The Twelve Days of Christmas
by Lily and Blue
Summary: 12 days of Christmas, 12 days of stories; New York at a certain time of year brings adventure & romance to the CSIs. Mac/Stella, DL, Flack/Angell, Sid, Hawkes & Adam. By Blue Shadowdancer & lily moonlight. Chapter 10; Lindsay, Danny & a leap of love...
1. Partridge

**Disclaimer**** We own very little, especially not CSI New York**

**Notes**** Welcome to the first story on this account! We are lily moonlight and Blue Shadowdancer, and this is our first collaborative project, based on the song, 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'. Each chapter will be based on one verse, and posted daily. We very much hope that you enjoy reading, and please do review and share your thoughts on it with us! **

_On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me_

_A partridge in a pear tree_

Christmas day

Stella washed into Mac's office, borne on a tide of Christmas songs which gushed out of an unknown speaker system. _On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me..._ She shut the door firmly behind her, and shook her head slightly, as if trying to shake the sound from her ears. A long scene inside a convenience store playing a 'festive' six-track loop the day before had left her with little tolerance for the music.

"What is _that_?" she asked, staring at Mac's desk.

He grinned. "It's my Christmas present from Danny. Isn't it… nice?"

"Yes. Yes, it's very lovely." She gingerly poked the stuffed polar bear, sporting a Santa hat and scarf, both of which were gratuitously decorated with glittering fake holly.

"Squeeze its paw."

"Do I have to?" She complied reluctantly. From somewhere within the bear's body emanated a tinny recording of We Wish You A Merry Christmas, and its head jerked in time with the rhythm. "Mac, I think it's having a seizure."

He laughed. "Glad that it's not just me to think that. I'm sorry that you're stuck in the lab over Christmas."

"No problem. Someone has to be, after all. Anyway, it's been nice and slow all morning; I've done a lot of catching up." She glanced around, out of the window, into the grey sky, and told herself that she wasn't missing anything by not sitting alone in her apartment, watching Christmas Day television.

"Same." He glanced at his watch. "It's gone three. We should stop for lunch."

"What do you suggest, Christmas dinner in the break room?"

"Well, there are turkey sandwiches in the vending machine. That could count as festive…"

Stella raised her eyebrows, as the telephone on his desk rang. He lifted the handset. "Taylor." His body stiffened and he straightened up. "Thanks," he said finally. "We'll be there."

"We've got a case, haven't we?" Stella asked as he hung up.

He nodded. "Afraid so. Downtown, home invasion."

"Well, I suppose at least now there's a reason for us to have been in."

Mac was pulling on his coat. "When we get back, you can open your present from Danny." He gestured to an inexpertly wrapped parcel sitting on the windowsill.

Stella sighed. "I can hardly wait."

-

"The street seems so..."

"Empty?" Mac suggested.

Nearly all of the citizens of New York were apparently enjoying Christmas day inside, and the two of them had the streets almost to themselves. The light was already dying, and thick clouds the colour of a fading bruise hung heavy over the skyline, weighted down with the promise of snow.

As predicted, the home invasion had not taken long. Merely a matter of collecting photographs and smeared fingerprints, both knowing that there was very little chance that the perpetrator would be caught unless he was already in the system. "I feel sorry for that couple," Stella said sadly. "To have your Christmas wrecked like that."

Mac stopped, and turned face her. "What did your Christmases used to be like? When you were younger?"

She shrugged, and her eyes clouded with the distance of memory. "They were... busy. I mean, there was a tree, of course, but it was for all of us to share. And so were presents that hadn't come from our friends. I spent so long, just imagining what it would be like, having Christmas with my parents, and brothers, sisters..." She paused, and smiled sadly. "It's funny, but I always assumed that by this time I'd have a family Christmas of my own. You know, tree, presents, roast turkey, carols on the radio, all that sort of stuff." She smiled, and spread her hands, as if shrugging off a foolish idea, but something of it still lingered inside her holly-green eyes, a thorn that had not yet lost its sting.

Mac's eyes were quietly understanding. "It's a bit late for a tree, I think, but I've got you a present, back in my office."

She grinned, light returning to her face. "I've got one for you, too. It's quite similar to Danny's, actually."

"Liar."

"Well, perhaps you're right, " she conceded. No longer walking, she balled her fingers into fists to try and keep them warm. Her breath puffed out in white tendrils of mist. The bitter coldness of the air sharpened the sounds of the city around them, but also seemed to isolate them from it, the two of them alone together within a frozen forest of metal and concrete.

He put a hand on her shoulder, cautiously, almost nervously. "Stella..."

"Help!" someone yelled. "Help me!"

The two of them spun around instantly, hands flying instinctively to their holsters, as their eyes scoured the street for the source of the sound. "What..."

"Help!" came again, and this time they saw the man, racing headlong towards them down the sidewalk, chasing headlong after something that was a brown blur ahead of him. "Catch it! Someone!"

A glance sparked between the two of them, and they both moved to intercept, Stella crouched in the object's path with her hands outstretched, and Mac poised on the balls of his feet. Now they could see what it was - a brown bird, head pumping in and out of its neck as it made its break for freedom. Hurtling straight for them.

At the very last second, it swerved away. Mac threw himself forward in a rugby tackle. His hands closed around the ball of feathers as his body hit the paving slabs, and he rolled sideways. Into the road.

"Mac!" Stella screamed, and lunged for him, grabbing one of the lapels of his coat, and pulling him backwards. A taxi sped part, its front wheel almost clipping his skull, and its horn sounded furiously. "What on earth were you doing?!" she yelled furiously, over its din. "You could have got yourself killed!"

The man had now reached them, and was bent double, panting for breath, and managing to look rather shamefaced at the same time. Mac straightened up, the bird cradled within his palms. "It's yours?" he asked.

"Yeah," the man gasped out, between gulps of air. "Sorry. It was the centrepiece at my party. You know, in a pear tree. It's a partridge..." He trailed off. Stella was still glaring, her eyes bright with indignation, and Mac appeared to be trying not to laugh.

"Well, you'd better have your partridge back."

The man took it, carefully. It seemed completely unconcerned by all that had happened. "I need to be getting back home with it. Before it tries to escape again. Thank you _very_ much!"

"It's fine," Mac said. "Just keep a closer eye on it!"

"I intend to! Merry Christmas!" He set off at a jog, back towards where he had appeared from. Mac and Stella watched until he was out of earshot, and then turned to each other.

"That was… interesting!" Mac exclaimed, laughing.

"What do you think the others will say when we tell them about it?" Stella asked, smirking slightly.

Mac began to dust down his coat. "I'm sure that Flack will say something about a bird in the hand..."

She laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, we should be getting back. It'll be dark soon."

-

It _was_ dark by the time they arrived back outside the lab. The snow that had threatened was finally beginning to fall, thick white flakes fluttering down through the darkening skies.

"I'll get coffee, shall I?" Stella suggested, noticing an enterprising vendor's stall still open for business. She released Mac's arm. "I'll meet you inside."

He turned and waved to her as he climbed the steps, his hair and shoulders now speckled with white. Someone had hung a wreath on the door. As if it were a home.

The snow continued to float down, spreading a thin quilt over the ground, as she paid for the coffee and wished the vender a merry Christmas,. From somewhere, perhaps an open window, a snatch of music drifted, one of the Christmas songs which she had become so infuriated with over the recent days. But something about the setting made her stop, listen to this one, appreciate it. _On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me..._

Her cell phone beeped, and she pulled it from her pocket and read the text message. It was from Mac.

_Where are you?_

She looked up, through the dark night sky, to the lighted windows, yellow as pears. One in particular.

"I'm coming," she whispered.

**Please review! Next chapter up tomorrow, we'd love to know what you think! Thanks, Lily and Blue**


	2. Turtle Doves

**Disclaimer**** We own very little, especially not CSI New York.**

**Notes**** Chapter two of our story; Sid and a little Christmas fluff :D Please review, we love to hear from you! Thank you for all reviews, alerts and favourites :D Please continue! We hope you enjoy this second chapter.**

_On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me _

_Two turtle doves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree._

Two Turtle Doves

With the unwatched television in the background, providing a lulling drone to the after dinner ease, Sid sat with his wife in a companionable silence, both half-dozing in the sitting room, until something stirred him awake, and he found himself gazing at her. The house, with their two daughters both at a friend and boyfriend's respectively, was theirs alone. After a dinner prepared between them, with his wife slicing vegetables with the accomplished flourish he loved to watch, and himself adding his alchemy of herbs and spices, they had sunk onto the couch and closed their eyes, just for a moment.

But, as he glanced at the hypnotically ticking clock above the television, that had been two hours ago, and here they still were. As he reminded himself, however, he was not working today, and there was no guilt he was going to allow himself to feel for a few hours of simple pleasure in the company of his wife; the woman he loved. They sat together, turned towards one another; a man and the woman he had loved for more years than he cared to admit to, and she would certainly not admit to. She was in fact, although he never publicised the fact, two years older than he was, but easily passed for ten years younger with the make up she swept lightly over her cheeks and her feather-cut hairstyle of dark blonde. Her beauty never aged in his view.

There was no vanity in Sid himself, and little concern over his appearance; something his wife had sighed over for many years before accepting he was not going to change, and would certainly never accompany her clothes shopping. It was difficult enough to persuade him along to the barbers regularly, and it often turned out that he found himself pushed down onto a stool in the kitchen whilst she brandished a pair of scissors over his head. The grey unruly thatch of hair he could never quite manage to tame had remained unchanged for years, and the clothes he wore out of work were bought for him by his wife on the basis of practicality and fit. He was happiest in his blue scrubs. Fashionable was not a word that was even whispered near Sid Hammerback; he left that to his wife, and always took a quiet pride in her appearance, and had even been known to compliment her on what she wore and how she styled her hair. The response he got on those occasions - a delighted widening of her eyes and mouth in a glowing smile - never failed to delight him in turn. It was that flash of hazel eyes in a laughing face that had captured his heart all those years ago, and they had never let go since.

After teenage years of flirting; early twenties spent experimenting in the stranger side of relationships, where numbers and practices were liberal; and a first marriage that had ended in a welcome divorce, he had met the woman now beside him at a friend's party. Sid remembered exactly the heat that had risen to his cheeks and the words that seemed to stammer out of his mouth when he found himself bumping up against her amidst a press of bodies in a yellow and brown kitchen reeking of beer and cheap wine. It did not take long for the party to be left behind them, and an offer of coffee ran into the late night and early morning, and was followed by a whirl of dates and dances, an unexpected second marriage, and a partner he could not imagine life without.

_My wife_, he thought; and the smile he kept on the inside to light him through the darkest days of death in his work, burned brighter than the late afternoon sun flaring between the tree tops he could see through the window. A sudden movement in the top of the winter-thinned branches caught his eye, and he sat up with care, to avoid disturbing his wife whose legs were swung over his own. Two birds sat in the highermost branch, two doves; ruffled grey feathers and huddled shapes, together. As he watched them, perched above and looking down on the world below, it sent his mind into wonderings. Mated for life, so legend would have it, and so he liked to believe. The trees and everything surrounding were rimed with frost, but the two doves seemed to be weathering the cold together and he admired their spirit.

His eyes moved to take in their surroundings; the room decked with green garlands and sparkle, and a tree filled with ornaments, many of them the ones his daughters had made in kindergarten, kept as the most precious trinkets. The only incongruous item in the room was an object that sat in a the shade at the bottom of the tree; a mottled brown stuffed tarantula with a rather doleful expression in all its eight beaded eyes.

_Only Danny_, Sid thought, remembering the moment he had strolled into the morgue and handed over the present, wrapped in a piece of paper that had been cut too small, with the gaps covered over by thick layers of sellotape; Danny had insisted on him opening it there and then, and had watched with a grin, rocking on the balls of his feet as he tugged and tore at the tape, finally slicing it open with a scalpel. When the gift was revealed, the grin had almost split Danny's face as he pointed out exactly how the legs bent with inner wires, and how the eyes would swivel… The timely arrival of Stella had saved Sid from further forced enthusiastic murmurings.

The memory took his thoughts to his colleagues; to Danny and Lindsay foremost as he wondered what they were doing, and if it was even 'they' this holiday; he hoped it was. He saw them at the weathering of a storm that he hoped they were strong enough to survive.

Stella he also hoped would not be spending a lonely time, but he remembered how, as he had left the lab the day before, he had seen her in Mac's office, and he smiled at the memory of laughter between friends as he passed unseen. Partners who he knew had weathered the storms of friendship tested, with loyalty undiminished and with the unshakeable foundations of true companions.

The others in the lab were not left out of his musings as the afternoon sky changed to its evening hues; Hawkes he knew was spending a brief holiday with friends; Adam similarly; Flack he could not say about with absolute certainty, but there was talk of Detective Angell sharing time beyond work with him, and Sid saw in them the beginnings of delight in each other; the first excitement and heady rush of someone you saw the possibilities of life in.

He wished happiness to all of them.

The two doves became silhouettes against the glow of the sky as Sid watched and his mind drifted back to his present setting. His wife had still not stirred, and a thought occurred to him as he watched her nose wrinkle and her eyelids fluttering in a doze. He sighed and laid a gentle hand on her knee and smiled as her eyes blinked and opened, and she gave him her own sleepy smile.

"Everything okay? We been here long?" The smile creased to a frown, "Please don't tell me you have to go into work…"

Sid hastened to reassure her, "No, no, not at all. Today I am determined _not_ to see the inside of the morgue."

"I'm glad to hear it!"

She leaned back against the couch, stretching her arms above her head and wiggling her toes out in front of her; Sid let his eyes wander unashamedly over her and his hand travelled up her leg where he let it rest above her knee, one thumb stroking her skin. Her head turned to him, with a gleam in her eyes.

"I don't have you to myself often enough."

He regarded her thoughtfully, "Do I tell you often enough that I love you?"

His wife arched a delicately pencilled eyebrow, but her eyes were soft as candlelight as she curled herself round to face him, and cupped his cheek with her hand, "Sid, honey, you tell me every day. But it's something a girl _never_ gets tired of hearing, so never feel you've said it too often. And you know something else?"

"Tell me, my dear." He took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips, the contact sending a thrill through him he never grew tired of feeling; the soft skin of her hands, and the airy scent of lilies that surrounded her always entranced him anew.

"I love you too, Mr Hammerback." She murmured, drew her hand gently away and met his lips with her own.

**Lily possibly has a crush on Sid XD Please review and tell us what you thought of this chapter, we'd really appreciate it! Next one up tomorrow. In the meantime you might want to read our current stories: 'Eye Spied' from Blue; and 'Once upon a time in the Old West' and 'Sunset' by Lily. Thanks, Lily and Blue x**


	3. French Hens

**Disclaimer**** We own very little, especially not CSI New York.**

**Notes**** Chapter three here, Adam's turn. Thank you very much for all the reviews, alerts and favourites, and please do continue! We really do appreciate them :D**

_On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtle doves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree._

Three French Hens

There had been chickens in the backyard, when he was a boy.

Many things he refused now to remember, but he remembered the chickens. Remembered sitting on the porch in the baking Arizona sun, watching them scuff and peck contentedly in the dust, clucking at their small discoveries. From time to time they would approach him, expectant of bread crumbs from his pocket, and he would dig his fingers into their soft feathers, and stare, not at his immediate surroundings, the peeling paint on the old raised bungalow in an outer suburb of Phoenix, but out towards the orange desert that seemed to stretch forever.

The three hens were his responsibility. He'd given them all names, and they all had mannerisms that seemed apparent only to himself. He liked their company. They were his friends. Chickens were uncomplicated. Simple. They wanted food, and water, and shelter, and that was all.

Not like people. People were complicated. People measured the worth of others in hard cash. Food and water and shelter were never enough. Not for his father, certainly, although he himself had learnt early the wisdom of wishing for nothing, for setting his heart on nothing.

His comfort come from small things. Small details, which everyone else seemed to miss. In the chickens, for instance. He knew that Henrietta laid the most eggs, but Harriet's speckled ones had the largest yolks. And that Hannah's tasted the best, but she always tried to hide them, and he would inspect her feet for mud, or her glossy feathers for pieces of leaf, to know where to search for them. Small details.

He knew his worth, of course. It would have been hard for him to avoid it. Always, it had loomed over him like a thundercloud. The obligations, the debt, which had always been there, from when he was too young to understand. But then, there were things which he had never been able to understand, no matter how old he grew. His mother, for example. She would fly into storms of fury at his father, scream and shout and promise him that she would leave, that he would never see his son again, that he wasn't fit to be a father. A few times she had actually told Adam to put on his sneakers and marched him out of the door, arriving on the doorstep of one of her friends with nothing, just him, as if they were two refugees in a foreign country.

He had leant the pattern quickly. Whichever friend it was, (to him they all seemed alike), would hug his mother, and give her cups of tea, and candy bars for him, and he would be placed in front of some cartoon or other while his mother's tears soaked through their blouses and they told her that she should leave, get right away, they would loan her the money. For the boy's sake. Leave him, for the boy's sake. And she would agree, smiling weakly and hiccupping, nodding her head in agreement and resolve. This time, they would leave for good.

They never did. His father always found them, somehow, (it wasn't until much later that he realised that she had always left a note), and would come knocking in the middle of the night, with a bunch of cheap gas-station flowers clutched in one hand, his eyes streaming, promising her that he would change, promising her the earth, the stars, _anything at all, Jenny; please don't leave_. And she always went back, and took Adam with her, his feet scuffing and dragging on the well worn path to the front door. And for a while, his father would be contrite, and buy for his wife gifts there was really no money for, while his son sat on the back steps watching the chickens, and waiting for the shouting and screaming and tears and bruisings to begin again.

And they always did.

Had his mother really believed that she was doing the right thing by her son? She must have. It was what he had always clung to. Maybe she had thought that she was protecting him by always telling him that everything was ok, everything was normal, by looking the other way, as if that would keep him safe. As if refusing to see the evidence was just as good as if there had been no evidence to see, and as if by wishing that her son was growing up safe and happy she was throwing a charm over him which her husband's fists and belt-buckle could not penetrate. Perhaps she had never realised just how good her son was at spotting the evidence of it in her. Days when she favoured one side of her body, or moved slower than usual, or wore more makeup. Or when her eyes were red and swollen outside of pollen season.

He had known what was happening to them both, but he had never understood that he should have had another choice. That not everyone lived that way. She had not told him, and so he had accepted the fury towards him, the threats, the casual backhand knocks.

There was one day in particular that he remembered. It had been his birthday. And his mother had bought him one present too many, deepening the debt that hung above his head, and deepening the scowl between his father's eyes at the dinner table, while his mother did her best to make fragile conversation and Adam picked nervously at his plate, his appetite drained away by the tension in the air.

It was the cake that did it. Carried in, as tradition dictated, on a bone china platter which had belonged to the mother-in-law of the woman whose hands were shaking so much that the candle flames were flickering and threatening to blow themselves out before they reached her son. Hypnotised by her husband's anger, she didn't watch her step, and tripped. Dropped it. It seemed to take eternity to fall, but it was only a second before the candles lay on the floor, mixed in with cake and shards of china, the wish that they should have granted lost beyond recall.

Adam had seen the hurricane darken his father's face, and his fist was raised to rain down the first crushing blow, and at the sight of his mother's terror, something snapped inside him. He had leapt in first, diverting the path of the gale, but his fists were as insubstantial as snowflakes, and the first counter-strike after the surprise of his attack had worn off had knocked him back and made him dizzy, and sick with fear. He ran. Through the room, bursting out of the back door, with footsteps thundering, behind him. He threw himself to the ground, wriggling under the house, as for as he could crawl, and then lay on his side, curled tight, gasping with fear, while his heart threatened to smash itself to pieces against the inside of his ribcage.

He could see his father's feet in their army surplus boots, and the lower half of his faded corduroy pants. "Boy!" he yelled. "You get out here now!"

Adam didn't move. He was safe. His father couldn't reach him. As long as he stayed in the narrow space beneath the house, he would be safe.

One of the chickens, Henrietta, spotted him, and headed for him, skilfully eluding his father's grasp.

Hannah wasn't so lucky. He could only watch, horrified, as work-roughened hands tightened around her. "Get out here NOW!"

He was frozen with terror, his muscles locked rigid. Harriet slipped in beside him, unnoticed. He knew, somehow, what those hands were about to do, and squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his own hands tight against his ears, but that sickening crack as Hannah's neck snapped was seared onto his mind.

All afternoon he remained beneath the house, numb, while raised voices filtered down through the floor into the dim brown light, and a crash, many crashes, and a woman screaming, pleading. He wrapped his arms around Henrietta and Harriet, and they pressed their soft warm bodies against him, and clucked comfortingly. And Hannah's body lay in the dust, in the merciless sun, her beak flopped open, her empty eyes staring at him.

When it was dark, his mother came for him, and the bruising around her eye and jaw looked black in the white moonlight. "We're going," she told him in a ferocious whisper. "We're leaving, and we've never going back. Not this time. "

They got half a mile down the road to Suzie's, and Adam was put to sleep on the couch, but he didn't sleep, just lay still and missed the presence of his chickens, the eye of the moon staring at him unblinkingly through a gap in the drapes. Then, in the morning, his father appeared with a bunch of overblown carnations and begging for forgiveness, and they went home, husband and wife walking together, their son trailing as far behind as he dared, kicking up clouds of dust which stuck to the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Reluctant to enter the house, Adam headed straight for the backyard. Hannah's body was gone, and so were Harriet and Henrietta. They were never mentioned again.

- - - - -

Adam looked up. Danny was still waiting, an expectant grin on his face, oblivious to the maelstrom of emotions his gift had whipped up. "Well?" he asked.

Adam looked at the brown stuffed hen he was holding in his hands, wrapping paper strewn across the table. It had transported him instantly back into his childhood, back into all the memories he had tried to bury long ago as he spent more and more time at school, and then moved far away to college (apparently the cost had been outweighed by his father's desire to have him gone), and then moved all the way to New York, but even here, apparently, he wasn't safe from the memories.

But he had learned, long ago, how to hide his true emotions and pick another to show instead. And in a warehouse one May morning, he had finally proved to himself that he wasn't a coward. That he was stronger than he had been able to believe.

And it was time to let go of that particular memory. Time to _choose_ to let it go. He took a breath, and then grinned back at Danny enthusiastically. "For me?"

"Yeah, I couldn't find you to give it to you before Christmas. If you squeeze its stomach, it even makes a noise!"

He had friends now. _Danny_ was his friend, at times trampling blithely and uncomprehendingly over others' feelings, but fiercely loyal, ready in an instant to defend all those he cared for, with his failures haunting him forever. And perhaps they were alike in that way.

Obediently, Adam squeezed the hen's stomach, and a biologically improbable cock-crow was emitted. He laughed. "It's… wonderful! Thanks very much!'"

Danny clapped him on the shoulder, beaming. "No problem! Hey, you want to swing by Sullivan's for a beer later with me an' Flack?"

"I'd love to," Adam agreed eagerly.

"Great, we'll see you then. Oh, Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," Adam said softly.

The door of the AV lab clicked shut, and he swept the wrapping paper into the bin, before settling the hen onto a shelf, next to his present from Stella. It was a plaque reading _Home is where the heart is_, and he been able to think of no place better for it to go.

**Please do review and let us know what you thought of it! We'd love to hear from you. The next chapter will be up tomorrow, and in the meantime, here's another plug for our current stories, ****'Eye Spied' by Blue; and 'Once upon a time in the Old West' and 'Sunset' by Lily. Thank you for reading! Lily and Blue x**


	4. Colly Birds

**Disclaimer**** We own very little, especially not CSI New York.**

**Notes**** Chapter four; a story for Angell. Please review, we love to hear from you! Thank you for all reviews, alerts and favourites :D Please continue reviewing! We hope you enjoy this chapter. 'Colly birds', by the way, are blackbirds. The line is sometimes sung as 'calling birds', but we've gone for the original.**

_On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me _

_Four colly birds_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtle doves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree._

Four Colly Birds

"And you have a stuffed snake on your desk because…?"

Jessica Angell lifted her eyebrows and felt her lips twitch in amusement at Flack's disconcerted expression. With two fingers she picked up the violently green object and held it aloft, turning it to take in all of its lurid plush appearance. Just returned from a scene in the Bronx, she still wore her winter coat, and the draughts in the precinct were not encouraging her to remove it.

"Messer felt the need to give me a Christmas gift." Flack shrugged, "Would've been rude not to accept."

"Say no more." Angell chuckled, "I know he'd appreciate you displaying it on your desk for all to see…"

Too quick for the grab Flack made at the snake, she twirled it out of his reach and studied its embroidered eyes and patterns of yellow diamonds; it was curled into coils with a lopsided velvet tongue hanging out of its mouth, and there was a definite look of Vaudeville wickedness in its face, possibly due to one eye being stitched slightly smaller than the other and its red thread lips curving upwards in a sly grin.

Angell dangled it in front of him, "You know, I don't think this is any old snake, Don."

"Really? What kind of a snake is it then?" He snatched at it half-heartedly, "And since when do you know so much about reptiles?"

"There's an answer I could give to that, relating to time spent in other precincts, but I won't bore you with the details." She gave him a wry grin, "Let's just say this creature's got nothing on some of the cops I've worked alongside for reptilian creepiness." With an exaggerated shudder, she flicked the little piece of velvet hanging out of the toy's mouth, "Or the inability to keep certain parts of their anatomy out of the equation."

Flack's face darkened, "Want to tell me who?

"They're long retired, and after I took certain actions, there was never any bother from them again." It was with much satisfaction that she remembered exactly how she had dealt with an older and very lecherous detective in the first precinct she worked in. Also satisfying was the nod of understanding, and approval, that Flack gave her.

"You going to stand there holding that thing all day, or you going to sit down and tell me about your case, as you were about to before Danny's gift distracted you?"

He hooked a chair with his foot and dragged it closer.

After dropping into it with a grin, she held the snake out to him, "Here, better take your anaconda and keep it safe. Don't want it tangling anyone up in its coils. Could prove fatal."

"It's an anaconda, huh?" He made no move to take it from her.

She smirked, enjoying his amused bewilderment, and that she had been able to bring a smile to his face; it had been missing too often in recent weeks.

"Absolutely. Very distinctive markings. You got yourself a predator there, Don."

"No way this thing's going to be preying on me, Jess. Messer, maybe. Should've seen the look on his face when he pushed this at me and told me I had to open it right there and then…"

"I can imagine the look on _your_ face."

Angell finally dropped the snake back onto the desk where it seemed to slither by itself on its plush over to him. A final poke sent it over the edge and into Flack's lap, "Watch yourself. That little guy has a certain look. Probably wants to eat you…"

"Wouldn't like the taste of New York detective; too tough and stringy." Flack cocked his head at her and plopped the snake back in its original position, where it leaned drunkenly on its furry coils.

"You think?" Angell smirked, "On that theme, you want to grab something to eat? I can tell you more about the case over lunch."

"Sounds good." He grinned and stood up in an instant.

Leaving the grey of the precinct, they headed out in the silver glittered streets towards a diner they frequented whenever time allowed; its proximity to the precinct made it ideal, and the service - the owners knowing that most of their custom came from New York's finest - was speedy and reliable. They passed beneath trees bare of leaves and shivering, but as Angell looked up, she heard notes of song from an invisible blackbird.

Inside the diner, Angell placed their order before joining Flack in one of the orange leather booths; it took only a few minutes for their food to arrive.

"So tell me about your case." He leaned back and stretched his arm across the back of the seat after swooping a handful of fries into his mouth.

Angell picked up a napkin and began to fold it, "Scene was one of the community gardens in the Bronx, vic was a volunteer there."

It was still fresh in her mind as she described it; a small slip of land between two apartment blocks, overlooked by grim brown walls, but glowing with winter colour and carefully tended shrubs and plants. A plot not much bigger than a back yard, but one that was made great with the love and pride that was evident in the swept gravel paths and the smell of a recently painted fence.

The other detail that had struck her was the noise, or lack of it. Somehow, the situation of the garden cut it off from the cacophony of city traffic; and enabled the song of birds and the murmur of breeze through evergreens to be heard. A plane tree stood in a far corner and from amongst its boughs, a bird had flung joyful notes of song that trilled and echoed.

"We have a garden, we have trees, we have birdsong; sounds idyllic. What about your vic?"

"That's where it gets interesting." Taking a sip of coffee, Angell recalled him, "Seventy five, long retired, and according to himself, the garden is what keeps him going. No." She took note of Flack's tilted eyebrows, "I haven't been conversing with the dead, the guy was alive, if not at his best; attempted robbery, and assault, but something had scared them off. Which is the interesting part of my story."

"You got me hooked, Jess."

"He'd come down early morning to get in a little digging before lunch, and had been working away oblivious to anything else, as he told me, when a noise startled him…"

The old man had told his tale to her as they both sat on a rustic bench watched by four beady eyed blackbirds with orange beaks, who had settled in various positions around the garden; one of them had flown down from the tree and perched on the back of the bench, and seemed to have no fear of the two humans so close to him. If she was inclined to, Angell could have almost believed the tiny creature had assessed her, and found her to be no threat.

After refusing her offer of having his injuries looked over, the old man had insisted he was only a little shaken, and needed to tell her what had happened. He was old and frail looking with trembling leaves of hands and cobweb wisps of hair that his fingers ran through as he talked. But his eyes were bright even as he talked, and as he had waved his hand around at the work that was due to his hands alone in the garden, she could see the strength behind his fragile appearance.

As she told the tale to Flack, Angell continued to fold the napkin in her fingers, "Seemed he'd forgotten to lock the gate, which is his usual practice when working alone. He told me he heard the gate open, someone come up the gravel path, and as soon as he turned round to see who it was, he was knocked to the ground."

"He get a look at them?"

"First thing I asked him, and the answer was not really." Angell replied and her fingers continued their movement, "All happened too quickly. He remembers a guy in a light coloured jersey, dark pants, and that's about it."

Flack frowned, "Much as I'm enjoying listening to you telling me this, I'm still not hearing what was so interesting about this case."

"I'm getting to the good bit, Don." Her fingers stilled for a moment on the napkin whilst she took another sip of coffee, "He remembers looking up at the guy, not seeing much, as his glasses had been knocked off when he fell, then the next thing, a blur of feathers flew over his head."

"Feathers?" If Flack's eyebrows could go any higher, they would have disappeared off the top of his head. It made Angell grin.

"Feathers. Belonging to birds."

"Birds. Of course."

His look of outright disbelief was the same she remembered her own face falling into when the old man had told the rest of his tale. All the while, the blackbird perched on the back of the bench had watched her intently and his three companions had hopped their way closer and closer to them; until one had flown up to sit on the handle of the spade that leaned against the bench, the second positioned itself between the old man's feet, and the third hopped on top of a heap of leaf mould at the side of the bench.

Angell continued to relate the story to her colleague, "According to him, there was a lot of squawking, feathers flying, a guy yelling and then footsteps running away."

"Feathers flying?"

"What he said. I know what you're thinking, but I'm telling you, Don, this guy was sincere." She remembered his words exactly.

"_They helped me; returning favours you see, Missy. I help 'em out by digging when the ground's too hard for their little beaks to hunt out worms, and in return, they helped me today. Got their beaks and claws out and saw him off."_

She received the reaction she expected from Flack; a snort and a shaking of his head, "Birds flying to the rescue? Don't think so. Nice tale, but come on, seriously? You got an old man knocked on the head, something startles the perp away, and the old man thinks it was birds. Sounds to me as if he's been spending too much time on his own gardening with only wildlife for company."

Angell finished folding the paper napkin and covered it with her hands whilst she stared at Flack with a half-smile, "He knows what he saw, and if that's what he wants to believe, there's no harm in that."

Flack lifted his hands, "It's an interesting story, I'll give you that." He looked more closely at her, "You believe him."

"I believe what I saw, and I saw a man who believed what he was telling me." She had also seen, as she stood to leave after taking down all the man had to say to her, how the four little birds with jet black eyes and orange beaks had fluttered round the old man, hovering no more than a few feet away from him as he moved stiffly to accompany her to the garden gate. After walking away she had turned on impulse to see him standing watching, with a smile on his weathered features and three of the blackbirds lined up along the fence. The fourth, she saw with a catching of her breath, stood on the old man's hand which rested on the top of the gate. She had walked away with brisk steps, holding the image in her mind.

"Stranger things have happened in New York City, Don. You know that."

He humphed and swallowed the last bite of his fries, "Maybe. Doesn't mean I got to believe this though." He stood up, "You ready to go?"

Her coffee had cooled so she left the cup half-full on the table, and followed Flack, pausing only to pick up the folded napkin.

The walk back to the precinct was over too soon, and the instant they reached Flack's desk, Angell was handed details of a scene at the opposite end of the city.

"Could be an open and shut case…"

Angell snorted, "Nice thought Don, but I won't hold my breath." Giving a last spin to the stuffed toy on his desk, she grinned, "Catch you later. Enjoy your paperwork."

"I will, and make sure _you_ watch out for predators." Flack picked up the snake and shook it at her

"Funny." She walked away shaking her head in amusement.

As she reached the doors, she glanced backwards at Flack; the sight of him carefully rearranging the coils of the plush snake on his desk put a smile on her face that lasted all the way to the crime scene. And on the dashboard of her car, waiting to be given to bring a smile to his face when she saw him later, sat a black paper napkin folded by nimble fingers into the shape of a bird.

**Hope you enjoyed that; we'd love to know what you thought of it. Please review and tell us! Thank you, Lily and Blue x**


	5. Gold Rings

**Disclaimer**** We own very little, especially not CSI New York.**

**Notes**** Chapter five, Lindsay's turn. We've managed to get a day out of sync, both of us have been pretty busy over the last couple of days, so apologies! Thank you very much to everyone who's reviewed, alerted and favourited, and please do feel very free to continue! :D Also, Happy New Year to everyone! :D  
**

_On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me_

_Five gold rings_

_Four colly birds_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtle doves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree.  
_

Five Gold Rings

A dream.

Spectres surrounded her bed, ghost-girls, with pale faces and sightless eyes. They whispered to her, and she tried not to hear, because this dream had recurred for her for years, and she already knew what they would say. _Why you?_ they whispered, voices as insubstantial as mist. _Why should you have survived? We wanted to live too…_

She had no answer for them. She never had an answer.

They approached her. They had never come out of the shadows before, never this close. They peeled back the quilt, and the sheet covering her, while she lay there, defenceless and unable to move.

"No," she whispered. "Go away. No. Please."

They stretched out pale arms, held white fingers close to her face. They radiated cold. _Why should we go away? We miss you. Come with us…_

She moaned in fear, but her mouth refused to form words.

The hands glided just above the fabric of her nightdress, along her arms. And down to the gentle dome of her stomach. All of her muscles were frozen in place. She couldn't breathe.

Fingernails tinged blue and embedded with grave dirt. White hands laid on her, like a coating of frost. And she knew that the tendrils of frost were growing downwards, to freeze the tiny creature she held within her.

"No!" she moaned. "No!"

They faced her. _Why should you be able to bear new life? We want _our_ lives back…_

"No!"

She jolted awake, freezing cold, and clammy with sweat. Her hand groped desperately for the lamp next to her, and fumbled with the switch. Light surrounded her. Golden light, keeping the ghosts at bay.

Her breaths came fast, as if she had been running, and her hands were clasped over her stomach, over her baby, needing to feel the warmth of her own body, confirmation that the dream had only been a dream.

The quilt was on the floor. She must have kicked it off her. She reached down with an arm and quickly pulled it back onto the bed, wrapping it around her as she leaned back against the wall.

She was still terrified. _Only a dream_. Perhaps, but it still had power over her. All her senses were straining, ready to hear… anything. The digital clock beeped quietly as it turned the third hour of the morning, and she jumped, catching her breath again. Her cell seemed to have leapt into her hand from beside the lamp, and she clutched it tightly.

An instruction rang in her ears. _Call me. For whatever reason. Promise me you will, ok?_

She pressed the speed-dial button, and held it, pressing the cell against her ear.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

A click as the receiver was picked up at the other end. "Was'matter?"

"It's Lindsay."

She could hear a creak of bedsprings as he sat up. "Lindsay? What's wrong? Is it the baby?"

"No, no…" She felt ashamed of calling now. "It was silly, go back to sleep. I'm sorry."

"No, don't hang up. Tell me, ok? What is it?"

"A bad dream, that's all. A – a really bad one. I just wanted to hear someone…"

"Do you want me to come over?"

She smiled at the concern in his voice. "No, it's alright. I think I'll get up, watch some trashy TV. I'm on the early shift tomorrow. Well, this morning."

"Tell you what." There was a slight pause, and she waited patiently. "I'm in at five too, would you like me to pick you up now and go for an early coffee?" She hesitated, tempted. "C'mon. You sound scared. Please?"

- - - - -

"Lindsay?"

She looked up at Stella from the printed pages she had been studying at a table in the break room, a half-drunk bottle of water weighting down the pile. "Hey. How was your Christmas?"

"Good, thanks." She smiled at something, a memory perhaps. "How was yours?"

Lindsay shrugged. "It was ok. Same old."

"I heard you didn't go home."

"No. Might as well have, though, the amount of time I had to spend on the phone!"

She hoped that Stella wouldn't ask anything further about that. She wasn't entirely sure herself why she had remained in the city. Partly for the obvious reasons. Returning alone to the town in which she had grown up, visibly pregnant and with a visibly bare ring finger, was not a prospect to fill her with enthusiasm. But there was more to it than that.

She would have missed being in the city, now. All the life, all the noise, the bustle and hurry, the endless sense of busyness which never ceased. But that wasn't the reason, either, because the last time she had returned to her state, had stood outside with a wind tossing her hair that had never been tainted by pollutants, had looked up at the blue dome of the sky stretching out to horizons which were as distant as a dream, she had wondered how she managed to live in New York at all.

Stella filled a cup with coffee, and sat down next to her. "I'm just checking that you're ok. You look tired."

_I should have put on more makeup._ "I'm fine, just had a bad dream last night, it woke me up."

"Well, if you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. We all are. And Danny is too, I know he'll come through for you."

"He asked me to marry him," Lindsay blurted out. She saw Stella's eyes widen slightly with surprise, and wished she hadn't said anything, but it was too late now.

"What did you say?"

"I told him… no. It's too soon. Neither of us is ready."

Stella nodded understandingly. "You two are talking, though? About everything?"

Lindsay wondered if her cheeks had reddened, and hoped not. Talking. The two of them had never been very good at talking things out. She recognised it in herself, and hated it, but somehow could never bring herself to form the words, and share them out. But look at where that approach had got her so far. With the others in the lab. With Danny. Nodding her head and saying that she was fine, and hiding behind the mask of her job. A scientist. An investigator. Presenting a shell of impervious resistance to any investigation of her. But the cost of protecting herself was that she closed herself off.

But a new year was on the way, and she had already made her resolution, beginning that morning as she sat and shivered in a corner of the couch, waiting to hear Danny's footsteps approach along the corridor, waiting to hear Danny ringing the doorbell. She, after all, had been the one to tell him that nothing was just about the two of them anymore. They needed to talk. _She_ needed to talk, to him.

"I was at a café with him this morning," she told Stella.

"Has he given you a stuffed animal?"

- - - - -

"I've got a present for you," he said with an impish grin as they slid into their seats. "Don't know how you managed to get yours out before Christmas."

She returned it. "Well, I've been warned about your presents, from several sources. Let me guess, you've got me some sort of cuddly toy?"

"Maybe," he admitted. From inside the folds of the coat laid across the empty chair beside him, he extracted a parcel, light gleaming from the metallic wrapping paper, and from the copious amounts of sticky tape. "Merry Christmas."

She unwrapped it carefully, beginning, as was her habit, by peeling off the tape at the joins, leaving the rest of the paper relatively undamaged, but she quickly recognised that that approach wasn't going to work, and tore it open. In front of her, smiling widely, was a large green frog.

For a second, she felt – disappointed. Without admitting it, she had hoped that her gift would be different to those he had bought for everyone else. Something to show that he thought about her differently than he did the others. But then she felt angry at herself, for being so arrogant as to be disappointed. He had got her a present, and he was with her now, and that was what mattered.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you very much." She took hold of his hand, and he wrapped his fingers around hers, holding her tightly.

"If you kiss him," Danny said, with a lowered voice and the air of passing on a conspiracy, "He'll turn into a handsome prime for you to marry."

To marry. Her eyes smarted, and she felt the blood rise to her cheeks. "Danny..."

"What is it?"

She blinked hard, and shook her head. "I'm sorry about turning you down. Just – I don't know – give me time?"

He nodded. "I'm going to. You know I'm waiting for you, right? And – I want to do this with you. I'm sorry that I let you spend Christmas on your own."

"It doesn't matter."

"Y'know, I think it does." He reached out and titled her chin up, until she was looking directly into his eyes. "I talked to my mom when I was back home. About you."

"What'd she say?"

"Asked me what date we'd set."

"Oh."

He grinned. "I said I'd get you your ring soon enough."

She laughed. "Soon enough."

- - - - -

Stella raised her eyebrows. "A frog? Did it turn into a prince when you kissed it?"

Lindsay giggled. "He made the same joke."

"Shame, I thought I was being original. Ah well, one day you'll meet a handsome prince who'll shower you with treasure, I'm sure."

"I think I'm taken, now."

"Well, you can direct him to me instead, then!"

- - - - -

"You haven't kissed it yet."

"What?"

"The frog. You haven't kissed it."

"Danny Messer, I am not kissing a frog, especially in the middle of a coffee shop."

He winked. "Ok. Look inside its mouth."

"Why?"

He flashed her a lopsided grin. "Trust me, ok?"

She opened the frogs mouth. A folded packet of red tissue paper lay inside, held in place with a pin, which she slid out. She unfolded the tissue.

"Danny..."

- - - - -

Stella snapped her fingers. "Dreaming about your handsome prince, are you?"

Lindsay fingered the necklace clasped around her throat, as a picture rose up in her mind, of blond hair and blue eyes, and a smile. Her fingertips traced the engraved ring on the back of the gold heart, and the words within.

She smiled at Stella. "I think well find each other."

- - - - -

"Merry Christmas, Linds."

And she set the frog down, and leant across the table, and kissed him.

**Thanks for reading, we hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Please do review – we love reading them! :D Thanks, Lily and Blue x**


	6. Geese a laying

**Disclaimer**** We own very little, especially not CSI New York.**

**Notes**** Chapter six of our story; Hawkes, and a winter romance. Please review, we love to hear from you! THANK YOU for all reviews, alerts and favourites :D Please continue! We hope you enjoy this sixth chapter.**

_On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me _

_Six geese a-laying_

_Five gold rings_

_Four colly birds_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtle doves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree._

Geese a-laying

He walked through a white eiderdown landscape with buildings standing out like toys from games played amongst comforters and pillows. The snow that had spread over the city turned his breath to silver clouds as he walked and wrapped his thick woollen scarf more closely round his neck.

The scarf was a gift from Lindsay, and she had beamed at his genuine pleasure on unwrapping it. More unconventional, although no less heartfelt, had been Danny's gift of a fluffy pink pig that flipped somersaults when his snout was pushed. Hawkes grinned to himself as he thought about the pig and the few minutes reprieve from a difficult case its antics had brought Danny and him; they had set it on the floor of the trace lab and snorted with laughter as it grunted and turned wobbly back flips, until Mac and Stella's footsteps had been heard along the corridor. After considering, and dismissing, the idea of giving it to one of his younger cousins, he had put it in his locker and it now guarded his carefully arranged possessions.

Still grinning, Hawkes watched where his feet trod, wary of slipping on the mirror-like puddles that froze his reflection. At this time in the silent hours of the morning, Central Park was a winter dream with the trees that lined the paths spell-cast into froth and lace. Everything was stilled in the breathtaking cold, and he saw no one else as he continued walking at a swinging pace.

A rare day off, and even though the last busy few days had seen him determined to indulge in a luxurious morning lying in bed with a book, he had found himself out and walking through the city. His walk led him through streets that were stiff and starched, past skyscrapers cut out of grey, black and silver, to the park. As he continued under an eggshell sky, the hush of the snow that had settled in the breathing space of the city, enveloped him.

On the sidewalks of mid-town, the snow had already been trampled to grey lumpy slush, but here in the park it was pristine, and with a sudden grin he hopped off the path and onto the grass. The first to tread on the snow, the glistening white scrunched and creaked under his feet and in a sudden memory of delight, he marched around and around, creating patterns. There was no one else to see, and the self-consciousness that sometimes felt like chains around him, disappeared as he remembered all the times as a child he had run in crazed circles in the backyard of his home, trying to set foot on every inch of snow.

Someone had always watched him then; either his father smiling from a window and shaking his head at him; his mother from the back door with reminders every so often that he'd better not be catching cold; or Aunt Caroline who stood out in the snow and clapped her hands and laughed when he ran up to her panting and red-cheeked to demand her approval for his efforts.

"Sheldon, darling, you've done a fine job. I can't see the single, smallest bit of snow you haven't trodden on."

Then she would sweep him off his feet and swing him round before wrapping him in her warm arms and carrying him back indoors, where waiting for them both would be scalding hot drinks, and a candy bar that Aunt Caroline would slip into his pocket with a wink.

Hawkes stopped still for a moment and stood breathing lightly as he remembered. Times past, many years ago, but still as vivid as the sun that glistered on the snow as it rose above the trees, turning the frost that covered them to dazzling finery.

He remembered the finery that Aunt Caroline took an unashamed pleasure in wearing; the silk scarves at her throat that shone in colours of ruby and emerald; the earrings that caught the light as she twirled to show off her dress to him and his parents.

"Oh Caroline!" His mother would sigh and her eyes shone as she looked at her younger sister, "You look a picture!"

And Aunt Caroline would smile and laugh, and swirl out of the house in a feather light cloud of perfume and silk, to parties where, as she would weave stories about to her young nephew, she danced with kings and princes. But the truth, as Sheldon knew in her eyes, was that there was only one prince for Aunt Caroline and his name was Tyrell Sampson. It was a day of celebration in the Hawkes household when the all-important question was asked and answered, and their engagement became official. Sheldon's only sadness had been that his Aunt's visits became less frequent, and he rarely had her time to himself. But she was happy and that made it easier, and made the times she did make to visit him even brighter.

It was always in the snow that his Aunt looked most beautiful, Hawkes had always thought. Then the rich dark of her skin and the colours of her clothes glowed against the snow and ice, and he would laugh and shriek with her as she chased him round their backyard, or took him out into the street and helped him build snowmen and snowdogs, or whatever took their fancy. Then when snow came fluttering down from the quilted clouds above, she would stand with her hands outstretched, catching snowflakes on her palms.

He remembered the day she had called whilst Tyrell was working out of state; they had built a snowman and snowwoman together, and he had stood beside her with his mouth wide open and his tongue out, enjoying the freezing cold as snowflakes melted and slipped down his throat.

"You know where snow comes from, Sheldon darling?"

"Sure I do! Who doesn't?" He had scoffed with all the superiority of someone who had remembered his science lessons, "It comes from rain and ice and…"

"That's maybe what you've been told, but I know for real." She had lifted her eyebrows and waited for his challenge.

"Oh yeah? Where does it really come from then?"

She bent down to whisper conspiratorially in his ear, the wisps of her scarf tickling his skin and the diamond ring on her finger winking in his eye, "The snow comes from old ladies hiding up in the clouds, plucking feathers from geese to make their feather beds. When the wind gusts, the feathers blow away from them and fall all the way down to earth. So you be careful there, 'cause you're catching goose feathers meant for an old lady's feather bed on your tongue."

Then she had pulled away and watched him as his face scrunched up in thought; torn between disbelief, and wanting to believe that everything his Aunt Caroline told him was true, until he looked up and caught sight of the laughter in her deep brown eyes.

"You're telling me fibs! Snow's not from old ladies and geese! You made it up!"

He had chased her, demanding her admission, until they both collapsed in the snow, breathless and wheezing from laughter and running.

The laughter and joy of Aunt Caroline never ceased; and when after years of unfailing hope, she and Tyrell had celebrated the birth of their first child, it radiated throughout the whole of their family. Hawkes, then starting in his final year of medical school, was more honoured than he could say to be asked to be godfather. Two more children followed, and his Aunt and Uncle's cup of joy overflowed. Uncle Sheldon was always a welcome guest in the busy household, and he found himself over the years following in his Aunt Caroline's footsteps and experiencing the greatest pleasure in the smallest of deeds such as rolling the last ball of snow needed for a snowman and slipping secret bars of candy into hands as he waved goodbye.

_His family._

He did not miss, however, the looks Aunt Caroline gave him, and the whispered conversations between her and his mother about 'A nice young woman for Sheldon'. Hawkes shook his head with a wry smile; a city of five million, and he still had not found the someone he wondered if he ever would. But he was happy; his life contained his work, his family and his friends; and his work was with people he considered both.

Hawkes stopped suddenly as his mind returned to the present. Stroking his face with a feathery cold touch, the wind gusted, and he tucked his chin deeper into his scarf. Without realising, he had reached the shore of the lake. Usually alive with movement, the water had frozen to a sheet of jade, and the birds that should have sprinkled its surface were huddled together on the farther shore. All except a gaggle of geese that honked and hissed with gaping orange mouths as he took a step towards them.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." He held his hands out in front of him and stayed where he was. The little family, he saw now, stood guard over a clutch of eggs; glistening white and barely visible in their snowy nest. "I see you've got things to take care of there…"

A soft footstep just behind him made him stop and whirl round to see a woman standing watching his conversation with the geese, with a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. He felt a tingle in his face that was nothing to do with the cold air.

"Oh don't worry." The woman said with a dismissive wave of her hand, "I do it all the time, if I'm sure no one's watching me. That's what I like about these guys, on the whole, they don't answer back."

"So I see." Hawkes grinned, regaining his composure as the geese regained theirs and padded back to their patch of snow, still muttering and hissing under their breath, "You know these geese?"

He was answered with a laugh that chimed in the still air, "I do, and they know me, and most importantly to them, they know I always visit with a packet of bread in my pocket for them. You want a piece?"

A bag of bread was thrust towards him, and Hawkes pulled out a piece, "Sure, thanks. Seems I owe them an apology anyway for startling them."

"Don't mind them, they're always grumpy, especially when they got eggs to care for." She paused in the act of tearing up a piece, "Seeing as my mom always told me never to take things from a stranger, and I expect yours did the same, we'd best exchange names. I'm Jessamine."

"Sheldon." They shook hands with a smile, and a touch that lingered even after their hands had parted.

It did not take long for the bread to disappear, gobbled up by serrated beaks, but even after the geese returned grumbling back to their eggs and their own affairs, Hawkes remained standing by the lake with Jessamine.

And when white snow feathers began to tumble down around them, he turned to her with a twinkle in his eyes and said, "You know, I was told a story once about where snow really comes from…"

**We really hope you liked this chapter. Please review and let us know, all reviews replied to as soon as we can. Thank you very much, and happy 2009! Lily and Blue x**


	7. Swans

**Disclaimer**** We own very little, especially not CSI New York.**

**Notes**** Chapter seven of our story; we couldn't go very long without some peril XD Please review, we love to hear from you! Thank you for all reviews, alerts and favourites :D Please continue! We hope you enjoy this chapter.**

_On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me _

_Seven swans a swimming_

_Six geese a laying_

_Five gold rings_

_Four colly birds_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtle doves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree._

Swans

Ice cracked under her feet. She froze. _Ironic._ Slowly, slowly, she lowered herself to her hands and knees, trying to distribute her weight evenly. She looked down at the swirling galaxies trapped within the milky ice, and wondered if she would soon be joining them.

Water seeped through the knees of her jeans. Freezing water. Her fingers numb through her sodden gloves. She moved her arms, slid her knees, moving forward by another foot.

Behind her, the screaming started...

-----------------------------------

The wind had swept the powdered snow away from the lake and piled it in waves around the shore. Low grey clouds winged overhead.

Stella felt her muscles tense as she felt the ice move beneath her, bouncing slightly. She held her breath, as if that would help her. She couldn't feel her toes or her fingers anymore. Her muscles were warm from the effort, but inside her was a frozen core of fear.

A flash of colour in the ice. She looked down, and beneath her hands was a fish, a carp, its red-gold scales gleaming dully as it forever struggled to break through to the surface. Thoughts flashed through her mind, thoughts unconnected to her current situation. Cryogenic suspension. Maybe if she cut it free, warmed it with her hands, it would come to life again...

She kept moving.

The screaming was getting louder...

----------------------------------

The ice cracked again. A snap beneath her. She looked down. Fine lines radiated out from around her left knee, fissures micrometres across widening, spreading. Mycelial filaments growing, dividing.

She didn't move.

"Stella!" The voice drifted from behind her, borne on the wind.

She heard, but didn't respond. Watching the growth beneath her as it expanded, an ever-increasing radius of instability that she was staking her life on.

"Stella!"

The screaming had stopped. The wind hissed around her.

The cracks – stopped. She held her breath, held her body tense. The ice remained still. She dropped her head, and took a deep breath, then another. She could feel her shoulders shaking.

"Yeah." she called, without looking back.

"Stella!" Mac again. "Come back!"

"Can't. No time."

She didn't allow herself to look backwards, to see how much distance she had managed to cover. And from where she was, she knew that the ice would only get thinner. She looked up.

The girl was still lying on her front, her head turned towards Stella, her eyes wide with terror. She looked about seven years old.

"It's going to be ok," Stella called, with as much reassurance as she could manage. "You just hang in there, ok?"

The girl nodded slightly.

"Now, what's your name?"

The response wavered on the edge of hearing. "Alexa."

"Alexa?" A nod. "Alexa, you're a very brave girl. You've done exactly as I told you. You just need to stay lying like that until I get to you. Not much longer, now."

She began to slide sideways, away from the crack. No need to mention it at the moment.

"Got the rope," Mac called.

"Good. I'll say when."

"Alexa! Don't let my baby drown!" The shriek also came from behind her, the same person as had been screaming before.

She caught Mac's voice. "Mrs Jayden, please be quiet."

Alexa was trembling even more at the sound of her mother's clear panic, and Stella prayed that her fear wouldn't overrule the instructions she had so far followed perfectly. _Lie down, on your front. Spread your arms and legs. Don't move._

"It's alright," she said again, calmly. "Listen to me. I'm going to get you back to the shore. Nothing is going to happen to you." Free of the creeping fractures, she began to move forwards again.

"I don't want to drown," Alexa whispered.

"Alexa, you are not going to drown. I'm not going to let that happen. I just need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Fearfully, Alexa nodded.

_Keep her talking._ "Why did you go out on the lake?"

"The swans," Alexa whimpered.

Stella looked past her, out to the black water, where a bevy of swans glided silently, necks arched, unmoved by the human drama playing out before then. She counted them, out of habit. Seven. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yeah."

"I love watching them. But you shouldn't get too close."

Alexa's eyes began to overspill with tears. "I shouldn't have gone on the lake. I'm sorry! I don't want to drown!"

"Trust me, ok? Trust me."

"Yes," she whispered, almost soundlessly.

Very, very slowly, Stella leaned less and less on her right arm, until it bore no weight at all. Keeping her movements slow and smooth, with frozen fingers she unwound the scarf from her neck.

"Stell?"

"Hey, Mac."

"Flack's here now, too. We've got rope."

"That's good," she called. "Can you throw it over?"

She heard something slap against the ice, and slither to a stop. Flack swore.

"Let me try," Mac said.

"I can do it," Flack countered impatiently, and, despite everything, Stella felt a smile creep across her face.

Again, the slap and slither against the ice, but this time the end of the rope came to rest within her reach, and she pulled it next to her. She tied it around the centre of her scarf. "Alexa, I'm going to slide this over to you. I need you to wrap the ends around your arms, ok?"

"Ok."

"Right." She slid across the scarf, and watched Alexa wind it around her wrists. "Don't let go, ok?"

"Ok."

"You're a very brave girl." She watched the rope as it began to move. Whoever was on the end was walking around the shore, trying to make sure that Alexa's weight would not drag Stella down too. She began to slide herself sideways again, a little way at a time.

"Ready?" Flack's voice floated across the ice.

"She's ready," Stella confirmed. "Alexa, remember, don't let go."

Alexa's body, wrapped in its pink padded coat, began to slide away from her, and out of her segment of vision. Slowly, she began to turn in a circle. To get back to the shore, she would need to see the rope.

"Mommy!" The delighted shriek reached her ears, and she let out a breath she hadn't planned to be holding, and smiled. Mac and Flack's voices reached her, a jumble of words she couldn't make out.

"Stell! Behind you!"

A sudden shout, and she swung her head around at the urgency in Mac's voice. Two of the swans had heaved themselves out of the water, and were striding towards her, across the ice. She didn't move. Hoping that they would leave her alone.

They spread out. Flanking her. She tried to move away slowly, sliding backwards. The swan on her left stretched out its neck towards her, hissed. She swallowed. _Right now, that rope might be nice..._ The beak jabbed at her again.

And from the other direction the second swan hissed in her ear. She jumped involuntarily.

The ice cracked.

She felt it splinter beneath her knees, and saw the cracks growing exponentially, networks spreading out, hyphae tips enlarging, ready to engorge her.

Suddenly, the swans didn't seem quite so threatening. In fact, they appeared intent on retreating.

There was no way, now, that _she_ would be able to move anywhere on her own. "Mac?" she called. "The ice's breaking!"

"Hold on!"

The cracks widened further, lines joining and rejoining. "Mac!" she called again, this time with an edge of desperation in her voice.

"Stella, we're throwing the rope now."

She heard and saw it land barely two feet away from her. She stretched out her arm, and her fingertips grazed it.

Crack.

She threw herself towards the rope as the ice splinted beneath her and she fell, splashed down into the water.

The shock of it stole her breath, seeming to penetrate her chest, icicles spiking her lungs, her veins instantly frozen solid. A core of ice. The muscles of her body beyond her command. But her fist was clamped tight around the rope, and she held on, even though she hardly realised it.

And the rope went taut, and suddenly it was pulling her up and out, and she heaved herself onto the edge of the ice, rolling free of the clutching water, and was moving, skimming along, her eyes half closed against the blurring shades of white and grey, and the hurt caused by the tension in her arm and shoulder was almost unnoticed in the din of pain overwhelming her whole body as splinters and needles of ice were driven into her flesh…

"Stella!"

Arms wrapped around her, and she opened her eyes, level with Mac's face. He was unbuttoning his coat, which he pulled off with no concern for the freezing air, and forced it tightly around her body. "Stell, are you alright?"

"I'm f-f-fine," she managed to say, between the chattering of her teeth. "Cold."

"That was stupid of you," he said, trying to sound angry, but failing.

"A-Alexa?"

"She's fine, just shaken up."

"Good."

She sat up. Mac kept his arm around her shoulders as he crouched next to her. The water was already lying still within the splintered hole she had made. The swans were all back in the open water in the lake's centre. Nothing at all may as well have happened.

"Don't do that again, please!" Mac implored. Without the protection of his coat, his skin too was whitening from the cold.

"I won't. I p-promise." She leaned into him, as Flack jogged towards them, from where Alexa and her mother were hugging each other. "I'm fine," she told him, pre-emptively.

"We need to get you somewhere warm," Flack said.

"She can come back with me," Mac suggested. "If that's ok with you?" he asked her quickly.

She smiled gratefully. "That'd be nice."

Mac helped her up, keeping his arm around her. The shock of the icy water had worn off, but she was still chilled to her bones. She wondered if her hair would freeze solid.

"I'm never going to wander away from you to take a phone call again," he grumbled. "Look what you get yourself into!"

She laughed, as well as she could through numb lips. "Danny's present was appropriate."

"What did he get you?" Flack asked curiously.

"A penguin."

**Of course it had a happy ending :D Please review and tell us what you thought of this chapter, we'd really appreciate it! Next one up very soon! In the meantime you might want to read our current stories: 'Eye Spied' from Blue; and 'Once upon a time in the Old West' (now updated!) from Lily. Thanks, Lily and Blue x**


	8. Milk Maids

**Disclaimer**** We own very little, especially not CSI New York.**

**Notes**** Chapter eight of our story; Angell's gift, and a story from Sid to Mac and Stella… Please review, we love to hear from you! Thank for all reviews, alerts and favourites :D Please continue! Thank you to ****_Forest Angel _for discussion.**

**We're very sorry we've been delayed in posting the last two chapters, real life has been busy!**

_On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me _

_Eight maids a-milking_

_Seven swans a-swimming_

_Six geese a-laying_

_Five gold rings_

_Four colly birds_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtle doves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree._

Milk Maids

As they left the crime scene and walked towards their vehicles, something that sat and sparkled on the dashboard of Angell's car caught Stella's eye.

"Is that what I think it is?" She pointed at it, and grinned at the flush that appeared in the other detective's face, "I'm guessing you didn't buy that yourself?"

"I did _not. _It's bad enough having a name that's always met with either an expression of disbelief or outright laughter whenever I tell it to people, so I'm hardly going to be buying something like _that_, am I?" She finished with her hands on her hips, glaring at Stella; who could not prevent the grin stretching across her face as she pointed at the little doll with a white dress, wings, and a look of smug saintliness on its face.

"A Christmas angel. Cute. Don get you that?"

"Don has better taste when it comes to giving gifts." Angell answered smartly, "This was Danny's doing."

"Ah." Stella nodded, "Say no more." She caught Mac's eye, "Looks like our not so mysterious present giver strikes again. I don't know what's gotten into him this year, it isn't as it he's ever been conscientious about Christmas gifts before. Most years he's handed round an opened box of candy, _after_ Christmas day, and that's been his contribution to the holiday spirit."

"Perhaps impending fatherhood has revealed a side of Danny none of us has ever seen before. But don't complain. I'm all for it. Even if I could question his taste, at least he's made an effort."

Stella laughed, "Well I know what to get you next year Mac, something to keep your seizing Polar bear company.

Angell chuckled in turn as she opened the car door, "Nice. Let me know if you want to do a swap, my Christmas fairy…"

"Christmas _angel_, it's most definitely an angel, Angell." Stella interrupted with a smirk as she pointed through the windscreen, "You've not noticed the little gold halo she's got? It stands out beautifully against her dark hair. Danny's obviously put real thought into this…"

"Thank you _so_ much for pointing that out to me."

"I think it's kind of sweet." Tilting her head on one side, Stella considered the doll, "It does have a look of you…"

"Say nothing more, Stella." Angell held a hand up, "Unless you want to find out what _Angells_ are really capable of."

"I'll take your word for it…"

"And we'll head back to the lab to process what we've got." A certain tone crept into Mac's voice, and Stella gave a final grin to Angell.

"Hope Flack got you something nice then. We'll be in touch, soon as we get any results."

"Thanks."

Walking quickly, partly to catch up to Mac, and mostly to warm herself after standing still too long at the mercy of ice-tongued winds, Stella had almost reached him when Angell called to her.

"Oh, Stella?"

"Yeah?"

She spun round, immediately suspicious at the friendly innocence in her voice.

"Done any more impersonations of a penguin? Only I heard you'd had a close encounter of the icy kind yesterday…"

"Funny. _Very_ funny." The sarcasm and the grimace she sent Angell, were an attempt to hide the embarrassment she felt at her actions being known by anyone other than those involved. "Don tell you that?"

"He did. Seriously, Stella, he was impressed with what you did, and so was I. You risked your life to save that little girl. Good job. But I hope you've thawed out now of course, we couldn't have you being a penguin for real!" Slipping into her car with a wide grin, Angell slammed the door and drove off speedily, waving over her shoulder as she pulled out onto the street.

"Don's a dead man." Stella muttered as she marched to the truck and pulled the door open.

Mac raised his eyebrows at her before starting the engine, "Problem?"

"A small problem with a big mouth; nothing I can't handle, given a little while to plan how best to hide the evidence."

It was Mac's turn to smirk, "Would that be a problem by the name of Don Flack?"

Stella glowered, "Mac, I did _not_ want what happened yesterday being known by the whole of the NYPD. It was no big deal…"

"I doubt the whole of the NYPD, as you put it, knows. Angell may know, but it's not likely to go any further from her."

"It's not Angell I'm worried about. If Flack's told Danny…"

"I see your point."

There was silence for a few minutes whilst Mac kept his eyes on the slush covered roads, populated by drivers who seemed to believe it was a good idea to use cell phones, eat bagels and gesture at other drivers whilst failing to keep control of their own vehicles.

Missing by inches an enormous red pick up truck with a tiny old lady at the wheel, Mac swerved and swore, and it caused Stella to squeak at the narrow margin they had avoided collision by.

"That was close! What is it with snow and drivers in the city? You'd think some people had a death wish!"

Mac flicked his eyes towards her before returning to the road, "It was close. As was yesterday…" He interrupted before she could get a word out, "No, I _don't _think you shouldn't have done what you did, but it was a close call, Stella. And whatever you might think, what you did was brave, so naturally people are going to find out and talk about it. You're going to have to put up with that."

"Fine." Stella huffed, "I just don't want a fuss."

"You won't get a fuss."

"Or any more smart comments about penguins."

"That I can't guarantee."

"You're a real comfort, Mac." She grumbled.

"Thank you, Stella."

She would almost swear to seeing a twinkle in Mac's eye.

……………………………….

A few hours later and Stella stood with Mac in Sid's presence, over the body from their earlier crime scene.

"You got a COD for us?" Mac asked without preamble.

"Being fond of alliteration, I'd like to tell you that you had a murder in a milking parlour." Sid peered over his glasses, "As I believe your vic was a milk maid?"

"A dairy operative, Sid. That's the modern term. The parlour employs both male and female operatives, two men and eight women." Mac explained patiently.

"Really? That's interesting, and good to see equality in such matters." He paused and his eyes became distant, "You know, I'm reminded somewhat of one of Thomas Hardy's famous novels, 'Tess of the D'Urbervilles', Tess herself was of course a milk maid, who fell in love with tragic results…"

"Sid, much as I'm interested in classic English literature, you were about to tell us that we did _not_ have a murder?"

Stella stifled a smile as Mac folded his arms and Sid nodded.

"Of course; the fact is, I cannot be alliterative, as this female dairy operative appears to have died from natural causes." He moved mercurially and beckoned them over to where the internal organs were laid out in stainless steel pans, "Take a look at her heart, tell me what you see." He held it out to them.

Stella scrutinised it before stepping back to allow Mac to do the same, "I'm not seeing anything, Sid. You're going to have elaborate."

Sid beamed, "With pleasure. Your female dairy operative's heart is in a very poor state indeed. See here and _here_, the muscle is diseased and weakened, possibly due to a virus. I'm concluding it simply gave out, causing her death. I can find no other marks on her and tox results came back negative for anything untoward."

It drew a sigh from Stella, "Poor girl, although I guess we ought to be grateful for an open and shut case."

"It may not be much consolation to her family, but she wouldn't have suffered, as I said, her heart simply gave out."

"We'll inform the family and let them know the body can be released to them."

They lingered for a few more minutes, as Sid covered the body of the young woman whose heart had stopped, and shut her away into the cold steel drawer. The morgue suddenly reminded Stella of the milking parlor; the chill that breathed off the stainless surfaces, the smell of cold air, and the predominant white and silver of milk and metal. Strange contrasts. The cold of the crime scene had permeated her clothes and her skin and had sent shudders creeping up her spine. Reminders of the previous day and the icy water, the colour of milk, that had felt it like it had frozen her heart.

But it had not. She was here and alive and warm.

"Thanks, Sid."

He unclipped his glasses and fixed her with a stare, "You're welcome, and I believe _you_ had cause to be thanked yesterday? I heard something from Danny about you rescuing a little girl…"

"It was nothing like how Danny probably told it." Stella interrupted, with an 'I told you so' glare at Mac.

"I did take _some_ of his story with the proverbial pinch of salt; the part where he described hundreds of swans launching a coordinated attack against you for instance."

"He said that, did he?" Stella's arms came together across her front and her eyebrows met in a glower as she faced Mac, "Maybe Danny and I need to have a little conversation about his powers of imagination, and exaggerating the truth…"

The smirk on Mac's face did nothing to appease her indignation, but before she could launch into a tirade against Danny, Sid was speaking again.

"Strange as it may seem, as he was telling me this, I was reminded of a former girlfriend."

"You were?"

"I was, and interestingly enough, it has a connection, tenuous I admit, to our current case." The M.E.'s glasses were replaced and he looked between his colleagues, "Before I first married, I dated a girl who worked in a Dairy Queen. I used to call her my little milk maid …" His smile and expression showed that he had disappeared momentarily from them into memories of youth. Glancing at Mac, Stella took a step backwards, preparing to depart quietly, until Sid's attention snapped back to them and they froze, "We used to go ice skating, you see, which is what reminded me. We were quite the couple out there on the ice - you might not think it, but I was able to pirouette and lutz with the best of them."

"I'm impressed Sid, I never had you down as an ice dancer." Mac cleared his throat.

Sid shook his head with a sigh, "Sadly, it was not for long; we were fated never to dance the bolero together, and truth be told, at that time, Torvill and Dean were yet to do the same; it's been _many_ years since I was a teenager."

"Surely not that many, Sid?" The mournful note in his voice drew Stella's sympathy.

"That's sweet of you to say…"

"So what happened to your, uh, milk maid?" Mac asked, his face showing a mixture of bemused fascination and apprehension.

Sid shook his head, and his features drooped even more. Stella felt herself wincing as she dreaded to think what was coming next. The M.E. wore a look of tragedy to rival even a nineteenth century heroine of literature.

"Sadly, very sadly, she, well, she…"

"You don't have to tell us, Sid, if it's too painful."

"No, no, it's fine." He waved his hand, and pushed his glasses further up his nose, "Things get easier to tell with time…"

Stella risked a glance at Mac, "Only if you're sure."

"The truth is, one fateful afternoon out on the rink, I was not up to par with my moves and we argued, bitterly. It led to a rift between us that could not be repaired. She called our relationship off, and a few days later I discovered that she had begun dating a young man who worked alongside her at the Dairy Queen, and who was also a skater. One who was able to not only perform pirouettes, toe loops and single lutzs, but also a _double_ lutz." Sid raised his head to look at them both, "Something I'd never been able to achieve. Her heart was captured, and mine was broken."

There was silence for a moment, and then Stella squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry, Sid."

"So was I." His eyes brightened suddenly, "For a time, then I realised we were obviously not meant to be, and now I've been happily married for many years, I'm confirmed in that view. And now, in fact, my wife and I spend many Sunday afternoons in winter at the rink in Central Park."

Stella smiled, with no small amount of relief, "I'm so glad."

Sid caught Mac's eye and hastily picked up a file, "Well now I expect you both have many things to do, as do I."

"We'll catch up with you later." Mac led the way out of the morgue.

At the top of the steps, Stella paused for a moment and looked back; Sid was engrossed with the file spread open before him and the joy in his work was obvious once again in his face.

She smiled, and laid her hand on Mac's shoulder, "Who'd've thought it? Sid, a milk maid and romance on the ice."

"Stranger things, Stella." His own smile was warm and laid to rest the last shiver of memory from the day before, "Romance can happen in the strangest places, and at the strangest times… Even in winter, on an expanse of frozen water."

**We hope you enjoyed that, please review and tell us what you think! We'd love to know, reviews help us write :D Next chapter up as soon as possible. Thanks, Lily and Blue x**


	9. Ladies and Dancing

**Disclaimer**** We own very little, especially not CSI New York.**

**Notes**** Chapter nine; Flack and Angell's quiet drink is interrupted… **

**Thanks for all reviews, alerts and favourites, please continue! Thanks also to _afrozenheart412_ for extra thoughts and _iluvCSI4ever_ for reading. We're _really_ sorry this chapter is so late, real life is still very busy. But we'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible. We hope you're still enjoying this; please review and let us know!**

_On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me _

_Nine ladies dancing_

_Eight maids a-milking_

_Seven swans a-swimming_

_Six geese a-laying_

_Five gold rings_

_Four colly birds_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtle doves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree._

Ladies and Dancing

"This seat taken?"

Flack looked up and grinned, "Saving it just for you, Jess. What can I get you?"

She shook her head and her dark hair curved round her face, "I'll get these. You want your usual? The usual you have with me, anyhow."

"Sure. I'm a man of habit, why break a tradition?" His face creased into a smile, which matched the one on her face.

"Irish coffee then. So we're making this a tradition?"

He lifted his shoulders, "I'm all for them. Seems like we're creating a good one here."

"I agree."

With a squeeze of his shoulder, Angell walked over to the bar. He watched the sway of her hips as she moved through the clusters of patrons, and considered how she always managed to move with elegance; even in the middle of a chase, the middle of a scene, the middle of an interrogation. There was always grace in her steps and form; in how she turned, how she walked, the rhythm of her speech and smile.

Flack saw beauty in the lady who stood by the bar and leaned her hip against it as she turned and smiled at him. He smiled back and as Angell turned to give her order, he let his eyes dance over her.

Lost in thoughts that swung and waltzed far beyond dimly lit bars in Manhattan, Flack did not hear the footsteps approaching the table until a familiar voice jarred him back to the reality of a floor that was sticky underfoot and a table that was stained with countless spills of alcohol.

"Yo, Flack. This seat taken, buddy?"

He sighed at the sight of a grinning face, "Of all the bars… _Yes, _the seat is taken, Messer. Go find your ass someplace else to sit. What are you doing here anyways?"

Danny's features fell comically, "Nice, Flack, nice. You going to tell me who you're rejecting the always civilised company of Hawkes and myself for?"

His own features fell, "_Hawkes_ is here too? What is this, night of the CSIs?"

"Ha! Funny. Keep trying, maybe you'll make Broadway one day."

Flack folded his arms, "Oh I'm sorry, was that remark too smart for you? And the chances of me and Broadway are considerably higher than the chances of _you_ making a smart remark one day. Can't a guy spend a quiet evening in a bar by himself…"

"You're by _yourself_ in a bar? Are you kidding me? Come on, Flack, who's the girl? There's got to be someone you're saving this so-precious seat for. Or is it just in the hope a beautiful lady with a dark and mysterious past is going to walk into this bar out of nowhere, walk over to your empty seat, and enter your life so you live happily ever after?"

"Thanks for the compliment, Messer." Angell slid smoothly into the seat next to Flack, who felt his mood lifting, not least due to the nonplussed expression that fell onto Danny's face. "But I'm afraid I'm going to let you down on the whole mysterious past. There's nothing to tell there." She took a sip of her drink, "Unless you want me to make something up?"

Danny rubbed a hand through his hair, "Uh, wasn't suggesting _you_ had any dark secrets, Angell, just you know, …"

"Glad to hear it."

There was a moment's pause before Danny scrunched his face up and rocked back on his heels, "So, you're having a drink here?"

Angell lifted her eyebrows, "It's what people usually do in a bar."

"The lady speaks sense, Dan." Flack added, enjoying the sparkle in Angell's eyes, "You going to get a drink, or you going to stand there all night? Bar's that way."

He hiked his thumb, but to his dismay, Danny yanked a chair out instead, spun it back to front and sat down with his forearms resting on the table, "It so happens that my good buddy the Doc is buying me a beer as we speak. Don't mind if we join you both do you?"

"Do I have any choice?"

"You always got a choice, Flack. But if you choose to say no, then you and Detective Angell here lose out on the stimulating company of myself, Hawkes and…"

"Stimulating company? You talking about yourself, Danny?" Another figure, clutching three bottles of beer in his hand, appeared, "Hey Flack, Angell; these seats taken?"

Flack rolled his eyes, "Sit down. Join the happy crowd."

Hawkes sat with a grin, "Sure we aren't interrupting your conversation?"

"Messer and I were not having a conversation. His mouth was opening, words, maybe even sentences, were coming out, but I was not, repeat _not,_ taking any notice of them."

"You know what, Flack? Maybe you can…"

"Hey!" Angell interrupted Danny's outrage, "I hope you boys aren't going to be arguing all night, because if that's the case then I'm leaving you to it."

"You heard the lady." Flack had the beginnings of a smug grin on his face.

"I meant you as well, Don."

The grin died away, and Flack felt a wave of heat spread over his face as both he and Danny muttered incoherent things under cover of sipping their drinks. Hawkes, he saw, was looking on with amusement.

It did not take Danny long to recover himself as he pointed his bottle at his friend, "Where's the beer, Flack? You not got the stomach for it? What's the girly drink you're tossing down there?"

Flack clenched his hand around the glass of whiskey laced coffee, "I swear to God, Messer, the only girly thing around here…"

"Uh, hey guys. This seat taken?"

"What the heck… _Ross? _What are _you_ doing here?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Flack regretted the embarrassment he had clearly caused the young lab tech, "Not that you haven't got every right to be here… aw crap, sit down already."

Adam shifted on his feet, nervous movements as he if he was unsure of his steps, "I'm, uh, here with Hawkes and Danny, but…"

Hawkes stood and clapped him on the shoulder before dragging out another chair for him and sliding the third bottle of beer towards him, "Sit down. Flack and Jess were just making us welcome. Well, Jess was anyhow. You know Flack's got the social skills of an elephant at times…"

"Of a _what?" _Flack spluttered, "An _elephant? _What the heck is that supposed to mean? Do I even look like an elephant? Do you see anything resembling a trunk or a tail on me? No, wait." As Danny opened his mouth and Angell snorted with laughter, "Do _not_ even attempt to answer that because I can guarantee you that remarks _will_ offend, as will my responses."

"You'll offend me? Now you're scaring me." Danny sniggered.

"Yeah?" Flack leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, "That's funny, you know, 'cause I heard someone else scared you today."

"You did, huh?" His friend's eyes shifted suddenly, "Who's been spreading untruths?"

Hawkes ducked his head with a grin, and Flack's smile widened, "You mean apart from you, Dan? So it's true. She _did_ scare you."

"No idea who you're talking about." He took a swig from his bottle and wiped his hand across his mouth, "You got no proof of anything."

"I got all the proof I needed from this lady right here." With an elaborate gesture, Flack indicated Angell, "Detectives talk, _you_ should know that. Heard you had a, how do I put it? Yeah, a _heated discussion _with a certain other lady at your scene today. Am I right?"

"If by a certain other lady you mean Stella, then yeah, we worked a scene together today. One of the burlesque clubs downtown, troupe of nine dancers, DB in the dressing room. It's what we do, in case you hadn't noticed, being CSIs and all." Danny spun the beer bottle and a quantity of liquid sloshed out of the top, "We work a scene, we discuss evidence. It don't mean we had any kind of discussion other than what was related to our case. We work professionally, always."

"Oh absolutely." Flack nodded deeply, "And you telling people that a whole bunch of swans had attacked Stella in formation after she dived head first into a frozen lake was also entirely professional, and entirely truthful. Come on, was that seriously the version you heard from me?"

Danny shrugged, and pushed his glasses up, "So I maybe got a few details wrong…"

Flack tutted, "And you being a CSI and all. You shock me."

Angell and Hawkes were trying unsuccessfully to stifle their laughter, while Adam was twisting his mouth into impossible shapes whilst his shoulders shook.

Danny cleared his throat and took another gulp from his drink, "What can I say? I was impressed with her actions…"

"And yet Stella was _not_ impressed with your actions." Hawkes said, and Danny rounded on him.

"You too, Hawkes? You turning against me as well? Come on, I tell a few people what Flack has already gossiped about, and I get Stella threatening to do all kinds of things to me, no lady has ever threatened to do to me before. Some of which apparently she learned to do whilst dancing…" He shook his head, "Man, I'm telling you, if that's what dance training teaches you to do, then I'm taking it up myself." He stared round at everyone, "And I ain't getting no sympathy from any of you. Why is this?"

Flack's grin almost split his face, "_You_ taking up dance training? That I would pay to see. But hey, I'm sure Stell loved the penguin you got her…"

"That's another thing." Danny clunked his bottle onto the table, "I take time and effort to get you all a Christmas gift, and yet I get the feeling I'm being laughed at behind my back about them."

Cries of denial arose from everyone around the table, and Flack punched him on the arm, "What's not to love about a stuffed anaconda? And I know Jess was delighted to receive a Christmas angel from you, _weren't you_, Jess?"

A strange sound came from Angell as she set her drink down and coughed, "Absolutely, yeah. She was… adorable. How d'you know I'd love something like that?"

Danny beamed, "Soon as I saw it, I _knew _you were going to love it. With your name and all."

"One question; why this year, Danny?" Hawkes asked, "You don't usually bother with gifts."

"Guess I wanted to do something nice for you guys." He shrugged and dipped his head, "So I'm not the expert at choosing a bunch of gifts, but you know, you've all been good to me over everything, you know, last year, all the stuff that happened. I, uh, I had some tough times, and you were good to me, all of you, so… I wanted to, you know, say thanks."

There was silence for a moment and then Adam looked around and raised his beer, "I propose a toast; to Danny, one of the best friends a guy could have, and giver of some of the, er, most _unusual_ gifts in the NYPD."

"To Danny!"

Their voices carried over the chink and clunk of glass against glass, and Danny's protests.

"Sorry, Messer, you don't get away with giving out stuffed toys to your friends and associates without a little something in return!" Flack grinned as he struck his glass against his friend's.

"Yeah, thanks." Danny grumbled, but the pleasure in his face was obvious.

For another hour they sat together and recounted tales and cases, and if the telling of them danced beyond the confines of reality, no one minded. Finally, as Hawkes was causing their jaws to drop and stomachs to turn with medical school anecdotes, which, in Flack's opinion, rivalled some of the worst stories that Hammerback could produce, Danny stood up.

"Sorry to break up this little party, but I got to be out of here."

"You got someplace better to be? I'm wounded." Flack held his hand over his heart.

"Better company, no offence to any of you." He grinned and drained the last of his beer, "Promised Lindsay I'd take her to watch an ice dancing show. Since Hammerback told her about it, she's been busting to go."

"You're playing fairy godfather, huh?" Hawkes raised his eyebrows, "That's nice, man."

Squinting at him, Danny pulled on his leather jacket, "Sarcasm don't suit you, Doc. Leave it to the expert sat over there in the pink tie…"

"Salmon. The colour is salmon, Messer. Which you'd know if you ever bothered to wear a tie. But as you don't…"

"I'm leaving now before this gets ugly." Danny backed away with his hands held high, "As ugly as it's going to get when Stella catches up with _you_, Flack 'cause I wasn't the only one she was threatening damage to…" He was poised for flight, "Though nothing could be as ugly as that strip of cloth round your neck. Later!"

Flack let himself be pulled back down by Angell as Danny sprinted out of reach and away.

"I'll be heading off too." Hawkes picked up his coat off the back of the chair and stood up.

"_You_ got a date, Hawkes?"

"I got a date, Flack. And no, you don't need to know any more than that. Catch you later!" With a smile, he also disappeared. Out of reach of questions that were hanging off the tip of Flack's tongue, but would have to wait. Unless…

"You know anything about this, Ross?"

"Nothing." Adam set his bottle down and stood up as well, "And sorry, don't mean to be rude, but I'm going as well. So have a good night, you guys, and, uh, thanks for the company, enjoyed it."

Flack lifted his glass to him, "Any time. Thanks yourself."

Adam grinned, "See you both!"

And then, once more, there were only two.

"So…" Flack began.

"So, you want another drink, or shall we head off ourselves?" Angell ran her thumb over the back of his hand, "Maybe I can persuade you to lose the tie though, salmon pink doesn't go with your eyes…" Laughter danced in her eyes as she smiled at him.

"You think?"

"I _know_." She said, reaching round his neck, and in moments his tie was undone in her hands, "Shall we go?"

"Wherever you want, Jess."

With her hand around his waist, she led her partner through the sway of people, out and away into the cold night air. They moved in quickstep along the streets until they reached the edge of the park, diamonded with frost beneath a silver moon. Then their steps paused and Flack slipped his arm around her, drawing her closer so they stood toe to toe.

"Where are you taking me?"

Her eyes sparkled, "How about we make it a night for dancing?"

"Sounds perfect." He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, "Lead the way."

She leaned closer, "We're already here."

Their lips and hands joined as the stars danced on above them.

**We hope you liked it! Please review, we'd love to know what you think. Thanks, Lily and Blue x**


	10. Leaping Lords

**Disclaimer**** We own very little, especially not CSI New York.**

**Notes**** Chapter ten; Lindsay, Danny and a leap of love. Please review, we love to hear from you! Thanks for all reviews, alerts and favourites, please continue! We hope you enjoy this chapter :D**

_On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me_

_Ten lords a-leaping_

_Nine ladies dancing_

_Eight maids a-milking_

_Seven swans a-swimming_

_Six geese a-laying_

_Five gold rings_

_Four colly birds_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtle doves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree._

Leaping Lords

When the glare of day had muted into the softer glow of night, and lights winked in stores and apartment blocks, Manhattan was at its best. And on winter nights, when snow dusted the city, it possessed a whisper of fairytale allure. This was how Lindsay had always imagined New York, before she discovered the reality of its ogres and demons, its wicked secrets, and its cruellest corners. But as she walked along the sidewalks, through the thronging crowds with Danny anchored to her by his fingertips, she remembered again her dreams and the city's magic, and smiled to herself.

They reached an intersection and stopped at the edge, Danny swaying on his heels, "You okay there, Montana?"

"I'm good." She stepped up to him whilst they waited to cross. People bunched round them, and Lindsay instinctively wrapped her arm around herself. As they waited, cars flowing past, she rubbed her hand over the curve of her stomach, still finding herself in wonder at the soft swell of life inside.

_My baby. _

Her eyes caught Danny's, and even as she lowered her eyelids, smiling softly, she caught the same look in his. His hand loosed from hers and his arm slid round her waist, drawing her closer.

_Our baby._

"Where d'you want to go?" He asked as they crossed the street and paused at the other side, retreating against a wall to avoid blocking other pedestrians.

"Someplace close. I wouldn't mind sitting down pretty soon." She confessed, and regretted it immediately as a familiar look of anxiety descended on Danny's face, "Danny, it's fine. I'm just tired. It's been a busy few days… I _loved_ the ice dancing last night, but I guess it took a lot out of me."

The crease in his forehead deepened, "Things getting too much for you?"

"No, no, it's fine." Lindsay sighed, but could not resent his concern. It was a feeling that warmed her, to have someone care for her; for her baby.

_For our baby. _

"Then how 'bout the pizza joint two blocks away? You know the one, we've had a few slices there before. Or you want some take-out instead? Could take it back to your place? Or mine. Whichever you prefer."

"Take out sounds good, and my place, if you don't mind." It was not the food that appealed to her so much as the thought of her couch, and the warmth of her apartment. Even swaddled as she was in a sweater, thick winter coat and scarf, the raw chill of the wind crept through the layers and made her shiver, and the wind felt as if it was scraping the skin on her cheeks, "You choose where for the food."

Danny grinned, as his glasses were pushed up, "You bet. Know just the place a block away. And your wish is my command, we'll take it back to your place."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Already he was moving, picking up a rapid pace and striding along ahead of her. Even the contents of a garbage bag spilling onto the sidewalk did not slow him; he simply leaped over the mess, and all Lindsay could do was trot alongside him, still tethered to him by their fingers. It made her feel suddenly the awkwardness of the difference in her shape, and made her mindful of the crowds that Danny seemed to move through so nimbly, and she did not.

So many people.

It had never bothered her before; the sheer numbers of people that fitted along the sidewalks had only been a cause of wonder, but now it felt almost as if every person could be a threat, a danger to her baby.

_To our baby…_

"Danny!" Her voice was blown away, "_Danny!_ Wait up…" She panted, and tugged at his fingers.

As he stopped and turned, shouting and exclamations became audible behind them. Lindsay, as she shifted herself to look, saw a ripple of commotion heading towards her. And then as she was turning, becoming slowly aware of what was happening, a girl dived past, and caught her shoulder. Lindsay stumbled, lost her balance as her changed centre of gravity caught her out, and began to fall…

"I got you." Danny threw his arm around her, pulled her back up and righted her before she even had time to gasp, "You okay? Stupid kid, charging along like that. _Hey!_" He hollered to the rapidly disappearing back of the girl, "Watch where the hell you're going next time, unless you want a ride downtown! _Man_. Kids today…" He shook his head, and looked Lindsay up and down as she calmed her breathing and managed a faint smile, "Montana, you sure you're okay? Nothing hurt?"

She squeezed his hand and drew in a shuddering breath, hiding it with a quick smile, "I'm okay. Lost my balance, that's all. Come on, I'm hungry." Motioning to her bump, she managed a grin, "So's the baby. We're keeping Junior waiting."

"We are, huh?" Danny pressed himself closer, and with one arm still firmly round her waist, he laid his other hand on her stomach, "You think he's going to start kicking again?"

Lindsay smiled and rested her hand on top of his, enjoying the feeling, after her first initial instinct to draw back subsided, "He might, and so might she!"

Even Danny's touch, known so intimately, she found provoked a spike of anxiety. Only for a moment. But a moment long enough to feel the fear and enormity of the life that she held; the life that she carried through streets that seethed and teemed with people, with danger; the life that she could only carry for so long and then no longer

They walked on and Lindsay breathed deeply. A few more months, and then the person held inside her would be exposed to all that the world held. All the bad, the wrong, the dangerous…

She sucked her breath in, and Danny again stopped, and his hand tightened, "I'm fine." The reply was automatic, despite the turmoil underneath that she could not talk about. Not yet. Maybe later, when they were safe inside, she would tell him. "I needed a moment…"

A look flashed into his eyes; curiosity, worry, and a glimpse of hurt which pinched and poked at Lindsay. She let out the breath she held, and let herself lean into him a little, "I… I was only thinking about, you know, about everything; about the baby."

Looking up at him, she saw the light from the chains of lanterns strung across a store window blink in his glasses, "Was thinking 'bout that too. Thinking what a guy like me's got to be doing to make sure the both of you are going to be good, you know, 'cause I _want_ it to be good. I want _us_ to be good, for all three of us."

"I know." She murmured, "I know you do. And so do I."

"Cool. We're on the same page here. We're good, right?"

"We're good."

His hand rubbed her stomach gently, "Cool."

They walked at Lindsay's pace now, stepping carefully through pedestrians, Danny stalking in front and clearing space for her, glancing at her every few moments. As independent as she was, the hand in hers felt good, felt right. They were safe…

The shouts, and then a scream, came from above this time. Lindsay stopped dead, looked up and her own scream leaped into her mouth.

"Danny, look out!" With more strength than she realised she owned, Lindsay heaved on his arm, and pulled him backwards. And a heartbeat later, the man she had seen falling from the second floor window bounced on top of the canopy above them, rolled off, and landed where Danny had been standing.

Her mouth open in an 'O' of horror, Lindsay froze; one hand welded to Danny's arm, the other held out in front of her. In the seconds of confusion, she wondered vaguely if she'd had some idea of trying to catch the man.

Danny was speechless and grey, his mouth opening and closing as he stared at the man lying in front of them, "You…you saved…"

Another scream from above shattered the trance and released her breath. Breaking her grip on Danny, Lindsay knelt down, with no small effort, beside the fallen man. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly open and one arm was bent beneath him; the other, clutching a rose, was stretched out above his head. Tearing her gloves off, she felt for a pulse.

"He's alive! Call a bus, Danny!"

"What?"

Lindsay hauled herself up into a crouch, "Danny! Call a bus, I got a pulse! You still with me?"

He blinked, "Yeah, yeah…" He rooted in his pockets, "A bus, okay. I got my cell… somewhere…"

"Here." She tossed him hers, and shook her head in despair as he fumbled with the buttons, "Come on, Danny!"

"I'm on it… Hello?" He cut off to send details to dispatch, and a minute later, was kneeling beside her, hand on her back, "Bus is on its way. Lindsay, stand up, this can't be good for you, the sidewalk's cold as hell…."

Mustering a glare that she hoped appeared as hot as hell, she snapped, "Then make yourself useful, and help me out! Get people to stand back, give us some room."

"Okay, okay! Boss lady…"

He pulled a face, but did as he was told; and to Lindsay's relief, at the sight of his badge and the sound of some well-chosen words, the press of exclaiming onlookers moved back.

Lindsay kept her hand on the man's neck, feeling the pulse of life beneath her fingers, and watching his chest rising and falling. At the same time her mind was racing to find an explanation for what had caused a man, dressed in a tunic and leggings with a rose in his hand, to fall from a hotel window.

It did not take long for the answer to come flying towards them and stutter to a stop.

"Oh God! Henry!"

A young woman stood in front of her, dressed in what had to be historical costume; a long velvet dress topped off with an elaborate headdress which was askew on her short, dark hair. It slipped further as she dropped down beside the man and called his name frantically, "Henry! _Henry!_ Oh no!" She seized Lindsay's wrist, tears streaming down her face, "Is he dead? Please tell me he's not dead!"

"He's not dead, I got a pulse and there's an ambulance on its way."

"Oh thank God!"

"Is he your boyfriend? What's your name?"

The woman shook her head and stroked the man's face, and choked out, "Isabelle, and… and no, he's not, but… but he'd like to be. That's kind of why he fell; we were at a Lords and Ladies party…" She drew in a sobbing breath and continued, "I don't… don't make a habit of dressing like this. Henry had asked me to go with a bunch of his colleagues…" Her shoulders shook, and Lindsay gave her hand a squeeze.

"Hey, it's okay. He's going to be okay."

"What happened? How'd he fall?" Danny crouched down behind Lindsay.

"It was the… the stupidest thing, honestly, the _dumbest_ thing ever…" Isabelle cupped the man's cheek in her hand and gazed down at him, with a mixture of pride and exasperation in her face, as tears dripped onto Henry's tunic, "I was… was at the window, looking at the lights, you know, and… and my corsage must've worked loose, because a gust of wind caught it, and it blew on to the next balcony along. I told Henry it didn't matter, it was just a flower, but he _insisted_…"

"Don't tell me." Danny grimaced, "Our Lord here decided to leap across and go get it, huh?"

"Yeah, you got it. I was yelling at him to come back in, but he climbed right up on the edge of our balcony, took a jump and… and missed!" Her face scrunched up and she gasped with more sobs, as Lindsay rubbed her shoulder soothingly.

"You got yourself a lucky guy here." Danny muttered shaking his head, "That was one hell of a fall."

Isabelle nodded, wiping her eyes, and spluttered, "I don't…don't know whether to kiss him or hit him for being so plain _dumb!_"

"Maybe leave the hitting till he's back on his feet." Lindsay suggested with a wry smile, "Hopefully that's not going to be long." She peered at Henry's face, and saw his eyelids flickering, "I think he's coming round…"

As she spoke, the whoop of sirens sounded, and in a few minutes, she was being gently eased up and out of the way, and the paramedics were surrounding Henry. Before he was loaded into the ambulance, Lindsay squeezed Isabelle's arm, "Hang in there, he'll be okay. And once he's up and about again, you better keep an eye on him, stop him leaping off of any more balconies. Seems like he needs a lady to keep an eye on him." She winked as she said this, and looped her arm through Danny's.

"I… I guess so." Isabelle managed a tear-stained smile, "Thank you so much, you've really helped. With… with everything."

"You're welcome." Lindsay grinned.

The last glimpse she had of them, before the back doors of the ambulance closed, was Isabelle, holding her rose in one hand and Henry's hand in the other. She stood and watched as the ambulance departed, nosing its way into the traffic, then Danny jigged her arm gently, "Come on, Montana. Don't know about you, but I'm starving. You ready to eat?"

"Are you kidding? I'm ordering two of everything!" This time she grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

"You know what?" Danny said as he hurried at her side.

"Not until you tell me." Lindsay flashed him a grin, but did not stop.

"Huh, well, all I was going to say was, you know I'd do the same, right? If you ever needed me to…"

Lindsay stopped and faced him, with her bump brushing against his jacket, "You would?"

"Sure I would."

She frowned and folded her arms, "So, you'd leap off a balcony, risking your life, to retrieve a flower that probably only cost a few bucks? You'd do that?"

Eyes shifting to either side, Danny pushed his glasses up his nose, "Yeah, I'd do that. If I had to. For you."

"Oh, Danny!" She groaned, "You idiot! You sweet, stupid, romantic idiot!" Seizing hold of his jacket with both hands, she pulled him forwards for a kiss and then held him back to look him up and down, "Let me tell you something, Danny Messer, I would be so _mad_ at you if you ever did that, you would not hear the end of it…" He opened his mouth, and she laid a finger on his lips, "No, listen to me; you leaping off of balconies for me is _not_ what I need."

Danny pulled her finger gently away and leaned into her, so his breath whispered in her hair and his fingers caught round the gold heart on the necklace he had given her, "Tell me what you _do_ need."

"I need you to take care of yourself, Danny." She stroked the hair by his temple, "Because I can't always do that for you, and because what I _want_ is for both of us to take care of this baby." She paused and felt his breath on her cheek, "Can you do that?"

He nodded and his forehead touched hers, "I can do that. For the three of us."

"Thank you." She whispered, "That's all I need."

**We hope you enjoyed this, please review and tell us what you think! Next chapter up as soon as possible. Lily's story 'Old West' also recently updated! Thanks, Lily and Blue x**


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